


love is a friend.

by lovi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Morning Kisses, Post-Break Up, YUCK!!!! OKAY ENOUGH, these tags are too sweet siiiiiiigh they are too sweet......, veryyyyy fluffy.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovi/pseuds/lovi
Summary: bokuto had been told that kissing him was like having the life sucked out from somewhere deep within the gut. bokuto had been told that loving him was like trying to withstand the brutality of a tropical storm.- - -very small bokuro love tribute
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	love is a friend.

bokuto had been told that kissing him was like having the life sucked out from somewhere deep within the gut. bokuto had been told that loving him was like trying to withstand the brutality of a tropical storm.

 _why do I hurt everything I touch?_ bokuto stood at the bathroom sink beside akaashi, watched as his dry heels pivoted on cold tile, viewed his scratch-ridden back reflected along the placid surface of smooth-polished metal as he walked out the room and down the hall.

 _how do I break everything I handle?_ akaashi’s voice flooded his eardrums like a tidal bore, rushed deep down into his gut and set it aflame as though run through a generator: bokuto’s lips formed heavy around absent vowels, useless consonants. the door slammed and sent his only vase shattering across the kitchen floor.

it’s the noise that scares him, he thinks: the crystalline shock that draws small pearls beaded from the dry corners of his eyes. he sleeps with his contacts in and months later wakes up to a sharp pain beneath closed eyelids; broken glass beneath thick-layered silk. he welcomes sleep with open arms just as the soles of his sneakers welcome the court’s polished hardwood, lulled slowly by the ebb and flow of sport until he woke again; the steam entering his body like a pillow stuffed into the lungs, cheap 3-in-1 lathered pathetically into unruly roots. he emerged from the gym shower and was greeted by kiyoomi staring at his bare feet, and was greeted again by the dulled fluorescent of his phone screen.

_want to grab dinner tonight? it’s been a little while._

bokuto paused, thumbs lingering hesitant over gray typeface. he puffed out a sigh and combed wet fingers through damp strands of hair, already beginning to dry.

_yeah, sure. nothing fancy though, let’s just meet at the pub_

and soon he was at the table; freshly showered and graced by the dim periwinkle of evening, gym bag shoved hastily beside the toes of his shoes. then kuroo was there, all energy pushed through angles where akaashi’s wasn’t: down towards the tips of his shoes and up and up and up til it burst through some unknown barrier, and bokuto was smiling again. bokuto chuckled even, once. the light on his forearms was red and everything felt warm and familiar, and kuroo was seated across from him; _nice sweater, nice watch._

it became a weekly thing; same time, same place, every thursday. one of them always arrived late until both of them were arriving early, and kuroo never asked about akaashi. he never needed to.

he always looked nice; well-dressed and clean-cut. finally mastered the flow of his own hair, bokuto noted. every now and then bokuto would pick up on something soft, something flowering gentle from the green vines grown along kuroo’s wrists; _a new cologne, probably_. the thought sat like a paperweight in the back of his brain until the fuzz had taken control of the reins, until they were stumbling down the narrow alleyway and it was getting cold and bokuto said he looked good.

why did that make the blood in his hands skip, why did it make his heartbeat click in his throat? it was just another thing he had shattered, a boundary that _changed things._

but kuroo was okay. kuroo smiled, kuroo habitually fiddled with his watch.

“thanks.”

but nothing had shattered, bokuto would come to find out. things were _shifting_ : if he hadn’t shattered akaashi, bokuto wouldn’t know which was more uncomfortable. february was melting into march into _late march_ , with its small pink buds and _suisen_ , the dirt sky’s little stars of gold strung pleasant along garden beds and peppered delicately throughout the frost-bitten earth of public parks.

kuroo was blossoming like the satin of each yellow petal, wearing a t-shirt and jeans one night:

“you look nice.”

“thanks.”

the words flowed more easily, bokuto feeling more daring with each reiteration: what was he chasing? what felt different; what settled somewhat off-center, shoved between sore ribs? bokuto shoved it aside because he thought of something funny and was laughing again, and kuroo was tilting his head back and cackling because he heard what bokuto had said, and his adam’s apple jutted out with the arch of his neck. bokuto wanted to reach out, bokuto wanted to run his thickly-padded fingertips over it until kuroo said something.

these urges blossomed with each newborn flower, freshly bitten by the chilled air of early April. bokuto was thinking of the shattering again, thinking of the winter and its endless sleep. playing like a small child touching a hot stove, lingering a hand on kuroo’s shoulder for a second too long, trying to look long enough to catch the color of his eyes. how had he never noticed the way they shadowed the hue of his own irises, the way they echoed up through the dirt and bled into warm daffodil petals?

the way they shone bright in the light of the morning sun; big and full, warm with a deep yellow radiance. it was a sunday morning and bokuto had shared kuroo's bed the night prior, a warm fuzz tricking down his spine from the nape of his neck. how did they get here? they were still at a comfortable distance

but bokuto’s legs were moving forward and shimmying himself further towards the center of the mattress: everything was just so warm, and bokuto wanted to feel warmer, warmer til the duvet cover felt cool between his fingertips; smooth-polished metal.

kuroo felt warmer still. _how did I get here?_ they were close now, kuroo’s hot breath nearly brushing the exposed skin of his collarbones til bokuto was caught in his gaze, making everything else feel cold in comparison. his lips formed light and jumpy around stumbled consonants, unsure vowels:

“you look nice.”

one of kuroo’s hands laid soft, almost fragile over bokuto’s thigh and the end of bokuto’s phrase trailed off into something distant and dreamlike. he laid his hand over kuroo’s slim knuckles, took its padded muscle into his own, rubbed the thumb soft along the palm. kuroo’s eyes grew wide and tenebrously luminous.

“you too.”

it sat on the bed of his bottom lip and dangled there like a student waiting to be called on. and before bokuto could answer the question, kuroo was tangling their legs together, kuroo was pulling him in and their _lips were touching,_ and velvet, velvet and charcoal and violet mints. hands pressed down into wet concrete, driveway chalk rained over and turned vibrant.

kuroo kissed bokuto like a secret, like a childlike wonder; kuroo’s lips floated feather-soft, tentative yet warm; bokuto’s hands hovered over his shoulders as though avoiding something fragile. _how did I get here? when did I start feeling this way?_

“Bokuto.” kuroo pulled back to regain focus on bokuto, scanning his features for any discomfort; any cracks in the china. he trailed his fingertips along bokuto’s jaw to the tip of his chin, light as vellum but leaving no papercuts. kuroo’s thumb sat on his lower lip and bokuto felt something well up deep between the eyes and the nose.

“you won’t break me,”

the words settled nowhere but echoed everywhere, sending bokuto spinning as kuroo’s slender fingers wove their way through his hair; cradling him like a baby, kissing his forehead. his lips lingered on the skin, ghosting hot breath over the sensitive divot of his temple. kuroo paused, formulating the words.

“and I won’t break you, either.”

the words flowed down bokuto's throat and into his chest like a gentle tide, peppering a trail of short kisses down bokuto's cheeks til he’d reached the warm edges of bokuto’s lips again, blossomed like the first carnation of spring, life-filled and baby-soft. bokuto felt a salty tear run down his cheek and kuroo barely managed to catch it with the edge of his bottom lip, plump and riddled with heartbeat. bokuto leaned in, skimmed his own lips soft and lovely into kuroo’s. let his hands snake up warm behind the back and trace constellations into the skin there, gentle and quiet.

love is a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> idk bokuro for me embodies a lot of my journey through self-love and out of internalized homophobia/working around the bits of masculinity problems wedged in me....... needed this ngl. comfortcomfortcomfort <333 sending love to you


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